


Our Darkest Sky Wide Open

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-28
Updated: 2007-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: I had the idea for this fic a couple of months ago. Originally it didn't have anything to do with either "Hunted" or "Playthings - it was started before the former and finished before the latter - but those two aired and so at the last minute I decided to tweak the story a little so that the story could 'fit' canon better. As much as a fanfic sticks to canon, that is, it's always a matter of interpretation, but you know what I mean... Anyway, here is the fic, is all *shuts cakehole now*





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Our Darkest Sky Wide Open  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Word Count:** 5000+  
**Rating:** R  
**Prompts:** Sam/Dean - shower - curse  
**Spoilers:** season 2 up to "Playthings"  
**Story Notes:** I had the idea for this fic a couple of months ago. Originally it didn't have anything to do with either "Hunted" or "Playthings - it was started before the former and finished before the latter - but those two aired and so at the last minute I decided to tweak the story a little so that the story could 'fit' canon better. As much as a fanfic sticks to canon, that is, it's always a matter of interpretation, but you know what I mean... _Anyway_ , here is the fic, is all *shuts cakehole now*  
  
Thanks go to [ ](http://starwatcher307.livejournal.com/profile)[**starwatcher307**](http://starwatcher307.livejournal.com/) for the help - she always makes everything better - and [ ](http://sockich.livejournal.com/profile)[**sockich**](http://sockich.livejournal.com/) for playing the cheerleader and reassuring me in a moment of doubt :-)  
  
 

* * *

  
  
The door of the motel room clicked softly behind the two men who entered wearily, but it sounded extremely loud to their ears, as did the sound of the switch when Dean turned on the light. A strained silence surrounded them, almost making the air around them thicker, making everything seem louder, darker.  
  
Sam plunked down on the double bed in the middle of the room, head in his hands, utterly exhausted.   
  
Dean, leaning heavily against the door, was staring at him. Then he straightened and took a step toward his brother, his eyes never leaving the miserable-looking silhouette.   
  
“It’s getting worse,” he said, voice low, as if he didn’t want the silence around them to be even more disturbed than it already was.  
  
Sam didn’t raise his head. “Shut up.” His voice was rough, edgy.  
  
“It’s getting worse, Sammy,” Dean repeated, not deterred by Sam’s somber tone.  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
Dean’s eyes darkened slightly at the denial; he moved closer, looming over Sam. “You’re lying to yourself, man.”  
  
Sam finally looked up at his brother and the anger on his face couldn’t completely hide the fear. He stood up and slowly moved into his brother’s space. “I’m not lying to myself. But I’m not ready to give up.”  
  
Anger flashed in Dean’s eyes. “I’m not fucking giving up either! I’m just- ”  
  
“Just what?” Sam interrupted angrily. “Just telling me this is over? Just telling me to stop looking for a cure? Just saying it’s not worth it?”  
  
“You saw me out there, Sam!” Dean shouted, arm roughly indicating a point that no one could see now. “You saw me! Don’t fucking dare say that it wasn’t bad! It was wrong as hell!” He lowered his voice. “You know it was.”  
  
Sam was silent. He couldn’t deny that the memory of his brother standing immobile as a little boy was about to be torn apart by a demon-possessed cougar was burned into his brain. The image of Dean calmly observing the scene, head slightly cocked to the side as if it was an amusing albeit a bit unusual sight, was going to stay with him for a long time. It hadn’t lasted, thank God, and Dean had come back to himself and shot the creature several times, thus saving the kid. But, for a moment, he had stopped and just... _watched_ , his face so blank that it had scared Sam a hundred times more than the demon they were fighting against that night ever could.  
  
Shaking his head, Sam was still not saying a word. His eyes were dark, his face closed up; he wasn’t ready to give an inch to his brother. This was too important. He slowly raised his hand to Dean’s neck, fingers sliding under the thong of the necklace that was hidden under the several shirts. He pulled it out and let his fingertips carefully brush over Dean’s amulet, and tried not to flinch when the touch felt cooler than it had been only three days ago.  
  
“See?” Dean asked, voice gentle this time.  
  
“It doesn’t mean shit.”  
  
Dean snorted. “You’re a stubborn ass.”  
  
Sam smiled a little. “What else is new?”  
  
Dean grasped the hand that was still caressing his amulet and he squeezed the fingers once before stepping toward his side of the bed. He discarded his jacket, toed off his shoes and made himself comfortable, lying on top of the bedspread, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were fixed on Sam.  
  
“What?” Sam asked.  
  
“Nothing.”   
  
“God, I hate when you do that,” Sam stated, sounding more petulant that he cared to admit.   
  
Dean smirked but didn’t answer. He kept staring at his brother, who was ignoring him now and following his lead, also getting comfortable. But Sam avoided the bed. He went to retrieve a bottle of cold water - making a mental note to buy more beer - from the fridge in what passed for a kitchen in their room, and leaned against the counter, staring back at Dean.   
  
Sam took a mouthful of water, focusing on the cold liquid in his mouth. Damn, couldn’t Dean just _say_ something? “Are we done for the day or are you just waiting for round two, man?” he finally asked, unable to bear the silence.  
  
Dean shook his head and then sat up, leaning toward Sam, his posture not relaxed anymore. “What do you think?”  
  
“I think,” Sam said, putting the bottle on the counter, “that if I’m a stubborn ass, then what does it make _you_?”  
  
But of course Dean didn’t dignify that with an answer. His face just turned more serious and Sam knew that he wasn’t going to like where the conversation was heading.   
  
Not that he’d liked anything that had happened for the past two months.  
  
“I gave you the time you asked me, didn’t I?” Dean started, his voice so reasonable that Sam wanted to fucking _punch_ him.  
  
“Bullshit,” he growled. “It’s been two months. That’s _nothing_.”  
  
“That’s enough.”  
  
“Fucking hell it’s enough!”  
  
“Look, I just want you to start accepting the fact, all right?” Dean said, his tone of voice cutting. “Just look at the truth, man. One of these days, maybe soon, I’m gonna stop caring about,” he swallowed, “about everything and everyone. I’ll stop seeing people as innocents to save. And then I’ll start caring again, only, it’ll be because I want to taste their blood on my lips, I’ll want to listen to them beg me to spare them or maybe kill them quicker and I’ll _enjoy_ it and I’ll-”  
  
“Shut the hell up, man, that is _not_ gonna happen!” Sam shouted, unconsciously taking a step toward the bed as if he wanted to physically dam up the horrific words.  
  
Dean refused to stop, his eyes burning into Sam. “Is that what you want me to become, Sam?” he hissed. “One more cold-blooded killer roaming the streets?”  
  
Sam looked down at Dean, fists clenched tight. “You haven’t lost your soul, yet. The Kephn failed. I’m not gonna lose hope. Not until that thing,” he pointed to Dean’s amulet, “is ice cold in our hands.” He paused. “And maybe not even then.”  
  
Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Stubborn son of a bitch,” he said in a murmur.  
  
Sam felt strengthened at that moment; he’d won this round. Dean would give him more time - would give _them_ more time - to try and fix this.   
  
“I’m taking a shower.” Dean stood up and headed to the bathroom, clearly wanting to put some distance between him and his brother, if only for a little while.  
  
“Dean,” Sam called and waited for his brother to look at him. “Just because we haven’t found the right solution yet doesn’t mean we won’t, okay? We’re all looking, Ash-”  
  
A soft chuckle interrupted him.   
  
“Remember a time when we’d do our own research? Just the two of us?” Dean asked, sounding a bit nostalgic.  
  
Sam smiled. “You mean when you let me do all the research alone, man, right?”  
  
“Hey,” Dean raised his hands, “it’s only fair that I let you pay me back for those years where I had to deal with all that shit on my own.”  
  
“I remember, yeah,” Sam said, choosing to ignore the comment about his being at Stanford and answering Dean’s initial question, even though it was more rhetorical than anything else. “But hey, things change, you know.” And this, too, was pretty much rhetorical; if there were two people in the whole world who knew that things changed, it was them.  
  
Dean’s look before he closed the bathroom door was all the answer he needed. Yeah, Sam was a bit tired of how things always seemed to change for the worse, too.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
The room was hot and steamy when he came in, and Sam congratulated himself on deciding to drop his clothes before he opened the door. He closed it behind him softly and stepped toward the shower. He opened the shower curtain slowly but didn’t join Dean immediately. He simply looked at him first, drinking the sight of the wet body and the sexy posture. Dean had his head tilted back, lips slightly parted, eyes closed, the line of his throat exposed, and the water was running on his face, along his neck, following a path down the strong shoulders to the small of his back and then the curve of his ass.   
  
Sam felt a sudden heat burn him from the inside. He hadn’t followed Dean in expectation of fucking, but apparently his cock wasn’t one to pass up that kind of opportunity.  
  
“I can’t even be alone in the shower, now, can I?” Dean’s mocking voice interrupted his thoughts.  
  
“Nope,” Sam said easily. He joined his brother in the stall and plastered his body against Dean’s back, not bothering to hide that he was hard. He let himself enjoy the feel of Dean’s slick, wet skin against his chest, his thighs. His cock. But he kept still, having no need to rock and thrust just yet. He was content with the sensation of skin on skin, content with the movement of the hot the water sliding on his body, seeming to touch every inch of him, outside and inside. He felt some of the knots in his back begin to loosen.   
  
“Well, it did take ten whole minutes before you decided it was fine to crowd me,” Dean continued, eyes still closed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s a new record, what do you think?” He opened his eyes then and turned his head sideways so that he could look at his brother.  
  
“I think you’re full of shit,” Sam drawled, “but I don’t think it’s anything new, so...”  
  
“Dude, you kiss your brother with that mouth?” Dean made the last word sound so dirty that it made Sam shiver.  
  
“I do a lot of things to my brother with this mouth,” Sam replied huskily. He couldn’t resist licking Dean’s own mouth now, lapping at the water pearling on those sinful lips. He nibbled them, coaxed them open, though Dean didn’t need any persuading. Sam’s tongue slipped inside and he moaned when Dean sucked on it. His hips started moving almost on their own volition, a slow and lazy little rocking motion that only made him get harder. His cock was sliding between Dean’s thighs now, bumping on his sac, all slicked and wet, and the friction was so _good_ and it was so hot; Sam wanted to keep doing this, wanted to stay like this forever.   
  
The kiss lasted a lifetime; they licked and bit the other’s lips, plunged into the wet mouth before retreating again, sought the other’s tongue before returning to lips. Dean broke the contact softly, lips so close to Sam’s that he could almost feel them, and he was sure that he was slowly losing his mind.   
  
“One day you’ll kiss me like this and I won’t feel a goddamn thing.”  
  
Dean’s words, breathed against Sam’s lips, didn’t register immediately on his fevered mind. But when they did, he froze; he felt as if his blood had become ice in his veins.  
  
“What?” He was stunned that Dean would choose that moment to attack. Angry. Sam could feel and hear the water still running around them but it felt like it came from far away.  
  
Dean turned to face him, back against the tile. His face was flushed, his hair darker than it was when dry, making his eyes brighter than they had any right to be. He looked gorgeous, but Sam didn't even notice it.   
  
“What?” he asked again, his voice dull, cold.  
  
Dean’s eyes weren’t leaving his. “One day,” he repeated, “you’ll kiss me like this and I won’t feel a goddamn thing. One day, the day will come when I look at you and feel _nothing_.”  
  
“Why, Dean?” Sam rasped, shaking his head, his bangs falling over his eyes. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
Dean didn’t give him an answer, just kept staring at him with his patented intense look that was usually louder than any words. Then, still silent, he took the shower gel - _no motel room soap for Dean, of course_ , Sam couldn’t help but think, but the thought failed to amuse him this time - and started washing Sam’s body with his hands, strokes slow and deep on his skin. It felt more like a massage than anything. He was trying to relax Sam... and Sam let him do it, needing his brother’s strong touch on his body.  
  
“You know,” Dean began, “I’m starting to change my mind about God.” He was applying pressure on a particular hard knot in Sam’s left shoulder as he spoke. “For things to go wrong so often, there has to be someone pulling the strings, man.”   
  
“Fucked up reasoning, if you ask me,” Sam said softly.  
  
“Nobody is asking you,” came the expected reply.  
  
Dean was caressing Sam’s cock now, but it wasn’t meant to arouse. More than it already was, that is, though the change of topic had definitely deflated Sam enough that he didn’t feel any kind of need right now. Except for the need to just forget about the world for a minute. Or a hundred years.  
  
Still speaking softly, Dean dropped to his knees, kneading Sam’s thighs with his fingers. Sam threw his head back slightly and closed his eyes, letting his brother’s hands clean him, wash away the dust, the sweat. If he could wash away his fear and anger, Sam would be eternally grateful.  
  
“Or maybe it’s just my karmic debt kicking my ass.” Dean was standing up again and facing him. “Or the biggest cosmic joke ever played. You won’t turn into a monster, but I will. And irony of ironies, I won’t even be a demonic one... just plain ole Dean Winchester. Only completely hollow.”  
  
“I won’t let that happen.”  
  
Dean chuckled at that, but his voice became cold with his next words. “Sam, people don’t always get what they want, not even you. Maybe it’s time for you to learn that lesson, man. You’re a big boy now.”  
  
“Condescending asshole,” Sam spat.  
  
“Selfish prick.”  
  
Sam chuckled, too, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I’m the selfish prick?” He rested a hand on Dean’s chest and pressed him harder against the tile. “Excuse me for wanting to save your fucking life!”  
  
“But you’re not, man, can’t you see that?” Dean shouted. His outburst seemed to annoy him and he composed himself immediately. Sam swore he could see the wall rise around his brother. “Can’t you see that it’s killing me? What I’m becoming.” Dean did that little coughing-rattling sound at the back of his throat, the one he always made when he knew his voice was breaking and he didn’t want people to hear it. It made Sam hurt.  
  
“Tonight... for a moment I looked at that little boy and I felt _nothing_. Do you hear me? I looked at him and wondered how long it would take for him to die... would he cry till the end? How many times would he call his mommy, would he beg his daddy to come help him? How long would it take him to understand he was alone?”  
  
“God, Dean.” Sam buried his head in the crook of his brother’s neck, bent low, eyes closed tight. “Shut up, please, shut _up_.”  
  
But Dean wasn’t finished. “It only lasted a second, but for a brief moment in time, I wondered what it would feel like to look at him in the eyes while he slowly died. And then I saw you running in my direction and your face... God, your face, Sammy.” The last words whispered, as if Dean was still in that dark place.  
  
Sam slid his arms around his brother’s waist and held him tight. Dean didn’t return the hug, maybe _couldn’t_ , but Sam was holding tight enough for the two of them.  
  
“I can’t stand it, man,” Dean breathed against Sam’s head. “I can’t stand the thought of becoming that, that _thing_.” Then, even lower, “And I can’t stand the thought of you looking at me that way again. Or imagining what Dad would think. God if he were here, he-”  
  
Sam didn’t let him finish that sentence; he raised his head and covered Dean’s mouth with his own, all but crushing his lips to Dean’s. The kiss wasn’t gentle this time; it was all teeth and biting, it was rough and desperate, it tasted of fear and need.   
  
“Dad is _gone_ , Dean,” Sam rasped, “I’m here and you’re all I’ve got left, okay?” His hands cupped Dean’s head, fingers gripping tight.   
  
“It’s always about what you want, huh?”  
  
“Think what you will.”  
  
“Don’t mind me if I do.” Dean shoved Sam away and stepped out of the shower, dripping on the floor. He picked up the towel waiting on the toilet lid and swiftly dried himself.  
  
Sam turned off the faucet and followed his brother. Still naked – if there were someone who was less body-conscious than Dean, then Sam still hadn’t met them – Dean stood in the middle of the doorway, lost in thought. Sam ached as he watched his brother, saw the fingers pressed against his lips in an oddly vulnerable gesture, though it only lasted a second. When Dean turned to look at him again, he projected his usual attitude; confident, cocky, and bent on doing whatever was best for Sam, no matter how much it might piss him off.   
  
“There’re a lot of ways for me to deal with the problem, Sam; don’t think I won’t try them all.”  
  
“You’ll start with, what?” Sam countered, wrapping the towel around his waist and trying to stay as calm as Dean was. “Ditching me in the middle of the night?”  
  
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, leaning against the jamb, “what’s good for you...” His voice trailed off, mocking, but Sam could still detect cold accusation here.  
  
“You kicked my ass six ways from Sunday when that shit was over; aren’t you above that kind of behavior?”  
  
“I’m not above anything if I think it’ll be best for you.” Dean turned his back and left the bathroom, Sam following stubbornly.  
  
“Right back at you, man. That’s all I have to say.”  
  
Dean shook his head and headed toward the kitchen. He opened the fridge and softly cursed when nothing of interest appeared in front of his eyes.   
  
“Seriously, Dean,” Sam said, standing behind and towering over him, “you leave and I’ll-”  
  
“You’ll what?” Dean turned and smirked at him. “Kill me ?”  
  
Sam made a face. “You’re right, it’s so not funny.”   
  
Dean just smiled sadly and walked to the bed, brushing against Sam’s arm. “Look, I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s just try to sleep, all right?”  
  
Sam nodded wordlessly and joined Dean on the bed.   
  
 

* * *

  
  
_Dark. Cold. A forest in the middle of nowhere. There’s a man, kneeling in the middle of a clearing. It’s Dean except... it’s not. There’s something different about him, as if it’s another person. Colder. Harder. And yet... Dean’s hand is on his eyes, covering them, as if by doing that he could block the world around him. The gesture is so Dean that it hurts. The hand falls on his lap, where it brushes the hard gun resting there, cold and black. It makes Dean smile, even like he is now. He’s almost completely transformed, but there’s still a little bit of his soul left. Enough. His eyes are dry, his face determined. He raises the gun in front of him, staring at it. The hand is shaking ever so slightly... he licks his lips and then looks up at the sky. He’s not going to close his eyes; he’s not that kind of man. He puts the barrel against his temple, whispers “Sorry, Sammy,” and without another word pulls the trig-_  
  
Sam bolted upright in bed, gasping, coughing. He couldn’t take a breath, couldn’t scream. But his whole body felt like it was screaming for him; blood pumping so hard in his veins, heart beating so violently in his chest, his ears were ringing with the cacophony.  
  
He reached blindly for the lamp and turned the light on, checking what his rational mind already knew, that Dean hadn’t gone anywhere. Except Dean wasn’t sleeping next to him.  
  
“Son of a-” Sam all but sprang from the bed and rushed to the door, opening it violently. He stopped short when he caught sight of Dean. His brother was sitting on the hood of the Impala, feet resting on the bumper. He was looking at nothing - or nothing that Sam could see, anyway - chin resting on one of his hands. Sam was about to join him when he remembered that he was naked. He went back in and grabbed the first pair of jeans he found and didn’t bother with a shirt.   
  
In a couple of long strides, he was in front of Dean. “Hey.” His voice sounded a bit breathless, but nothing to worry about.  
  
“Hey.” Dean looked at him critically. “Nightmare again?”  
  
Sam didn’t say anything.   
  
Dean kept staring. “Ah. Another vision. How’s the head?”  
  
Sam was almost startled at the question. He’d been so freaked out at the idea of Dean offing himself that he hadn’t even cared. Or taken notice. Now that Dean had mentioned it, yeah, his head was throbbing... but not as bad as usual. He just shrugged.   
  
Dean smiled a little at that. He reached out a hand and brushed his knuckles against Sam’s forehead. “Tough guy.”  
  
Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist before he could break the contact and kissed the palm of his hand. Dean’s eyes widened a second at the unexpected tender gesture, but he seemed to feel that this wasn’t the time for one of his trademark dismissive remarks.   
  
“Guess it was about me, huh?” he guessed.   
  
There was no need to deny it. “It was a doozie.”  
  
“Aren’t they all?”  
  
There were a lot of answers to that but Sam was tired. “I wish you could promise me that you’re not going to blow your brains off.”  
  
Dean raised his eyebrows, apparently not even shocked that it was Sam’s vision. “That’s interesting,” was all he said.  
  
“Interesting? It’s fucked up and _wrong_.”  
  
“Well, it goes with all the rest, then, right? The whole situation is fucked up and wrong. Sometime it feels like the whole world is fucked up and wrong, but what can you do?”  
  
“God, _Dean_! The thought of you killing yourself...”  
  
“Well, I couldn’t ask you, could I?”   
  
It freaked Sam out that Dean’s voice sounded so reasonable. So matter-of-fact. As if he was talking about asking Sam to do his laundry. “ _Fuck_.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s pretty much my thought, too. But look, asking someone to do that kind of stuff? It messes with your mind. Believe me, Sam, I know.”  
  
And damn if that wasn’t another topic that turned Sam’s stomach just to _think_ about it. The last burden Dad had ask them to carry. Had asked _Dean_ to carry on his shoulders.... and then he, Sam, had twisted the knife deeper. Sure, he’d been completely wasted when he'd asked Dean to kill him that night, but he hadn’t been out of his mind. He had meant it. And he sort of regretted asking it because he knew how much it'd hurt - was still hurting his brother - but he couldn't think of an alternative.   
  
He laughed to himself; talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Apparently, he was more like Dad than he realized, which was another story altogether. But he just didn't care; this situation... it was different. And that's why he couldn't just drop it.  
  
“I think I would hate the other solution more, Dean.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Sam took a step closer to his brother, spreading the legs open so that he could stand between them. “I can’t stand the thought of you dying alone.”  
  
A pause. “We all die alone, Sam.”  
  
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Sam snapped. “I’m just saying... I can’t bear the thought of you _alone_ , all right?”  
  
“You’d like to be there.” And Dean seemed to be considering the thought, as if he was adjusting some original plan to include Sam. It angered him. And terrified him.  
  
“Shit, stop twisting my words! What I’d like is to keep you by my side, infuriating and driving me crazy for at least the next seventy years, okay? So let’s just - not have this conversation.”  
  
Dean leaned back a little, hands spread on either side and slightly behind him. The move made his necklace rock a little, catching Sam’s attention. His hand raised to Dean’s amulet once again; in the past two months it had become a new habit. At first he had done it to share the pain with Dean. The first few times, the amulet had been burning hot, making Dean hurt constantly, though the stubborn jerk never complained. He continued to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if he wasn’t being burned without the slighted reprieve in sight. It had given Dean one more scar that would always be there as a reminder of what he’d gone through. And then, when it _had_ started to cool off, so slowly that it took them some time to realize something was going on, Sam had taken to brushing his fingers across it to check the temperature, in constant fear of finding it cold... but knowing it wouldn’t mean a thing to him, that there was no way he was going to give up on Dean.   
  
“It was one hell of a binding spell you pulled, huh?” Dean whispered, pride in his voice.   
  
“We did it together.” They had, out of sheer despair. The desperate attempt to bind Dean’s soul shouldn’t have worked - not like that - but it had. Sometimes you just have to believe in something hard enough, want something strongly enough for it to happen. And not be afraid to try some dark magic.   
  
“I guess we did,” Dean admitted softly. “Look,” he said suddenly, “I’ll give you more time to try and find the miraculous solution, okay? You know I’m not gonna give up on you so easily. I’m just trying to... ease the way or some shit like that. I just don’t want you to be in denial till it’s too late.” He cupped Sam’s neck with one of his hands. “It’ll hurt you too much if you do.” He leaned forward. “I can’t stand the thought of you hurting like that.” It was whispered against Sam’s lips, like a kiss.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispered back. He took his brother’s mouth in a wet, messy kiss, mapping the inside of his mouth with his tongue. He slid a hand inside his brother’s sweatpants and curled it around Dean’s cock. Dean moaned his name, legs tightening around Sam’s waist. He felt hot pleasure coil inside him. “I want to fuck you, Dean. I want to spread you open and fuck you long and slow until you only know my name. I want to stroke your cock and feel it grow in my hand. Want to feel you around me, clenching me and burning me so deep.” He was getting hard, humping against Dean. “And then I want you to bend me over and fuck me, hard and fast. Want to have you inside me. I want to take you and have you take me. I want you to remember this, remember _us_ always.”  
  
“Fuck, _Sam_ ,” Dean gasped, body taut, cock hard and hot in Sam’s hand. Sam twisted his wrist, stroking Dean just _that_ way, the way that always drove him crazy. He stroked faster, clenching in a rhythm that never failed to bring Dean off quickly.   
  
When Dean came, arching his back and calling Sam’s name, he leaned back and lay down on the hood of the Impala, breathing hard. His shirt rucked up enough that a tempting bit of skin showed. Sam was licking his hand, slowly, enjoying the taste of Dean, but when he saw that delicious sight, he bent low and licked the patch of skin displayed for him. Dean twisted - he’d always been ticklish in this particular place - but didn’t protest. His hands ran lazily through Sam’s hair as Sam explored more of his body, pushing the shirt up a little more.   
  
When he’d licked and nibbled enough to satisfy him for that first round, Sam covered Dean’s upper body with his own and kissed him again. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you, Dean.” He wasn’t begging, just stating a fact.  
  
“Okay.”   
  
And that simple comment made Sam happy, and gave him hope. It was enough. He bit Dean’s jaw, making him glare for a moment, before lifting himself; he adjusted his clothes, squeezed his cock once and motioned to their room.  
  
“Second part of the program, right?” Dean smiled. “I’m definitely okay with that.” He hopped off his beloved car and was about to start walking when Sam’s arm on his stopped him.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Without a word, Sam took Dean’s necklace, raising it over his head, and pulling it off.   
  
Dean looked startled. “Sam, what are you doing?”  
  
Sam put the necklace around his own neck, squeezing the amulet. “Keeping this with me.”  
  
“I thought I was supposed to keep it on me.” It was a simple question; Dean wasn’t really worried. Granted, Dean rarely worried, except when it was about Sam. Apparently, giving away his soul to his brother as a keepsake was just fine. Dean’s trust in him made Sam feel even more predatory towards anything that might hurt Dean or make him lose his brother.  
  
Sam’s tone was dark, dangerous. “I’m changing the rules. I told you, I’m not letting you go. I’ll keep this with me, I’ll be the guard-”  
  
Dean raised a hand, palm facing his brother. “Dude, if you say you’ll be the guardian of my soul, I might just kill you and then kill myself and be done with this Dark Side shit, okay?”  
  
A soft smile tugged at Sam’s lips, making him look more like _Sam_ , and they both relaxed. He didn’t say anything, he’d made up his mind. He would protect Dean; he didn’t care what the cost might be, or the means, but he was done losing the ones he loved. He’d have to be cautious of Dean because he knew that his brother would, indeed, do whatever it took to spare Sam if worse came to worst, but he was ready to fight. He’d already cheated Death once to save Dean; he was ready to do it again. And there was more at stake now. He squeezed the amulet, willing it to burn once more; as long as it wasn’t cold in his hands, it meant they could do this. Together.  
  
The game wasn’t over yet.  
  
Fin


End file.
